


360 Years

by CatiDono



Series: Dean Takes a Holiday [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU season 4, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Gore, Dark, Demon Dean Winchester, Demonic Possession, Gen, Hurt Sam Winchester, dark!fic, he really is a demon tho, holy crap is there blood and gore, well i say that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-03
Updated: 2013-11-15
Packaged: 2017-12-28 07:08:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/989177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatiDono/pseuds/CatiDono
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>-better description inside- Dean never got out of Hell and became his own worst nightmare. Sam and Bobby couldn't save Dean, but tried to go on hunting anyway. And then Dean went on holiday... Contains violence, emotional and physical trauma, Demon!Dean, and NO HAPPY ENDINGS.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. When You Came In the Air Went Out

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, I'm new here, let me start off with something horrible.
> 
> Backstory: In this "AU", Dean and Sam are nothing special and there are no angels to come to the rescue when Dean gets dragged below. One night about two years after the end of season 3, Sam corners Lilith and ganks her. Later, he is betrayed by Ruby and kills her too. Sam tries to find a way to save his brother, but never does (he also never gets addicted to demon blood), so he just continues to hunt with Bobby. At some point in this timeframe, Dean loses all traces of humanity and becomes a full-fledged demon, on par with Azazel and Lilith in terms both of raw power and cruelty. And then, finally, Demon!Dean claws his way out of the pit for some "rest and relaxation". Except Sam and Bobby are still hunters, and they've still got a job to do…
> 
> PS I never warned the ff.net people about this, but if you missed the other warning, there is MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH AND IT IS NOT PLEASANT  
> This is a dark!fic written with the intent to be as horrible as possible. Please don't read expecting fluff, or even mild pleasure; you won't get any.

Dean hasn't been topside in three years, and damn does it feel good. Of course, three years up here was almost four centuries down below, but hey, who's counting? Certainly not Dean, not after the first fifty. It hadn't taken him long to become the top demon, besides Alistair of course, and when he saw the chance to make it back to the good old US of A he jumped at it, quite literally crushing several other demons to take his shot. Now he steamed excitedly into the sudden coolness of a summer night in Iowa. The air up here was fresh, and smelled vaguely of barbecue. The human kind, not the type they had in Hell, and Dean found himself wishing he had lips to lick as the scent washed over him. He did miss the screaming—it was too quiet up here—but he could fix that soon enough.

Two blocks down the street, Dean found the perfect body, sitting in a bar drinking his fifth whiskey. An alcoholic, and a good-looking one too. Dean pretended that the guy even looked a little like his body from when he was human, but he honestly had no idea. It had been a long time since he had looked like much of anything but the souls of Hell's worst nightmare. The important part was that the man at the bar was young, fit, and at least three of the girls in the room were eyeing him.

Dean waited until the man went to take a piss, then billowed up behind him as he stood at the sink splashing water on his face. Black smoke suffocated the man as Dean's consciousness easily suppressed the will of the body's previous occupant. Dean considered killing him, but decided to just trap him inside his own mind. Why waste a perfectly good victim?

Smirking, Dean admired his new body in the mirror. Slim, handsome, with shaggy brown hair and hazel eyes that filmed over black as Dean blinked. He was wearing tight jeans and a form-fitting black teeshirt, neither of which left much for the imagination. Dean laughed out loud when he found the Swiss Army knife in his pocket, one of the fancy ones with a corkscrew, a serrated blade, and a four inch smooth blade that looked as if it had never been used.

"Wow, it must be Christmas!" he exclaimed, trying out his new voice. True, the weapon was no straight razor, but it would do for now. Flicking his meatsuit's eyes—his now, Dean thought with satisfaction—back to their original green-brown, the demon smiled winningly at himself in the mirror before sauntering back to the bar, eyes outlining the choicest targets.

"Hello, gorgeous," he leaned casually on the bar next to a busty brunette, who looked up at him coyly from beneath long, fluttering eyelashes. "What do you say we blow this joint and go back to my place?" She giggled and allowed him to take her hand and walk her out the door.

As he pulled her towards the pick-up that belonged to the man he was currently wearing, Dean let his smile expand until it became wolfish and hungry. He was officially on vacation, and tonight he was going to paint the town red.


	2. And Every Shadow Filled Up with Doubt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean can only have his fun for so long before someone decides to investigate....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't edit this much and it's an older story of mine, so sorry about any typos

Dean knew it was a trap the instant the girl beside him suggested they duck down a secluded alley to "have a moment together". He had actually been expecting it for the past few days, especially after he kidnapped the third woman. Combined with the demonic omens that must have sprung up when Dean left Hell, the mounting numbers of disappearances in the area were enough to bring any hunter with half a brain running. So it was no surprise when, after convincing a ditzy blonde to leave the bar with him, Dean sensed someone following them. He was impressed with the girl's acting though- she had him going right up until she suggested that they take a side route. Then her voice shook, just for the tiniest second, and her eyes flickered back over her shoulder. Dean decided that he'd better take control before the situation got out of hand.

He draped one arm around the girl's shoulders, stopping them in the mouth of the alley. He could feel her shaking, but he couldn't tell whether from fear or rage. A little of both, maybe.

"You know baby," he whispered in her ear, trailing his fingers down her face and leaning in close. "There's one saying out there that I used to love: never try to con a con man." His hand clamped across her mouth before she could make a sound, and he casually gestured with the other arm at the man rushing up behind them. The attacker was flung into the alley and slammed against the wall, held there by Dean's sheer force of will. He dragged the struggling girl over to where her partner strained against the forced holding him down.

"Let her go you son of a bitch!" The man growled, tendons on his neck standing out as he tried to pull free. Dean watched them twitch and imagined his knife severing them one by one, like plucking the strings of a harp. "She had nothing to do with this!"

"See, that's where you're wrong." Dean kept his tone conversational, but he was getting excited in spite of himself and he knew his eyes had gone black. The girl in his arms whimpered and tried harder to get away, but Dean's arm around her neck was like iron. "See, it's a game I play with myself. If the girl is smart enough not to leave the bar with a handsome stranger, she gets to live. As soon as she walked out that door with me, this little girl was dead. She just doesn't know it yet."

The hunter started to say something else, but Dean cocked his head to one side like a curious puppy, and the man's neck twisted a full 180 degrees with a series of sickening cracks and grinding noises. Still smiling pleasantly, Dean hauled the struggling girl into the darkness, leaving the man's body slumped against the alley wall. That one the police could find, and it would serve as a nice warning to all the other hunters out there.

Dean was beginning to get bored, despite the many pleasures of being back in the flesh again. Human bodies were not as resilient as human souls, and it irritated Dean that he had to find new playthings every time the old one died. This particular victim was just about used up; Dean had just finished carefully severing every tendon in this girl's body, leaving her limp and trembling on the table. He was proud of his accomplishment- this was the first woman to have survived Dean's attention. All the others had flailed and writhed too much, and he had ended up killing them out of spite. This woman had been the perfect subject, physically weak but strong minded. It had taken him almost a day of uninterrupted work to make her beg for death, but now that she had, his foul mood was returning.

Idly he affixed strings to her limbs, then ran the tethers up to a gigantic marionette crosspiece that he had created out of a ceiling fan. Dean had taken over the basement level of an abandoned office building on the edge of town, and over the past few weeks had built up a nice little collection of tools for use. He had been overjoyed to find a barbershop in town, and the day after his arrival had carried away a brand new set of straight razors. All the way back to his lair, Dean cheerfully hummed Sweeney Todd to himself. Now, he started the fan spinning slowly and watched in fascination as the woman pirouetted grotesquely before him. Her eyes were open and full of unshed tears as she twirled, completely unable to move her own body.

Something creaked upstairs, and Dean froze, clicking his fingers and bringing the living marionette to a halt. Another creak, followed by a soft thump, confirmed his suspicions that there was someone in the building above him and he waited quietly for them to move on. This had happened a number of times before, kids coming to the building on a dare, but none of them had been brave enough to venture down to the basement.

Suddenly, the woman behind him wailed, a long, undulating sound that was all she could produce with her tongue gone. Dean was at her side in an instant, razor blade sliding through the cartilage of her throat as smoothly as butter, nearly beheading her. Her head flopped backward, dead eyes empty and face full of a savage triumph. Above him, the footsteps burst into a run, and a moment later the door to the basement was kicked open, letting a flood of light down the stairs.

A tall young man rushed in, face shrouded in shadows, and leveled a sawed-off shotgun at Dean. "Step away from the woman!" He demanded, and Dean tilted his head, caught by surprise. He was sure he had heard that voice before, somewhere. He flicked one finger and the gun was ripped from the man's hands, another and he was pressed against the wall just like the first hunter had been.

Dean sauntered closer, curious and wanting to see the man's face. Defiant blue-hazel eyes stared at him from either side of a slightly pointed nose, the whole face framed by waves of thick brown hair. Dean narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. "You look familiar. Have I tortured you before?" The man against the wall spat in Dean's face, and Dean carelessly slammed his head into the concrete, watching with satisfaction as his eyes unfocused from the force of it. "Come on, it's a simple question."

"I am going to kill you," the man muttered, and Dean raised an eyebrow.

"Big words from the man with the concussion." Dean tangled his fingers in the hunter's hair and wrenched his head back, forcing the man to look at him.

"I will. I've killed bigger demons than you, you arrogant piece of shit."

Dean couldn't help but laugh at the intensity behind the man's words. "If you say so, but I've gotta tell you, there aren't many worse than me. Got any names?"

"Lilith," the hunter spat. "Azazel. I ganked them and I'll gank you too."

Dean pulled back slightly, impressed in spite of himself. "Well damn. So that's where she got to. If you hadn't come charging in here all alone and anxious to save the day, you might have had a chance. So tell me, before I kill you, because I'm curious. What's your name?"

"Sam. Sam Winchester, and you're not killing anyone else tonight." Dean stood there for a full minute, unable to believe his ears. Three hundred year old memories trickled back, and he began to chuckle, then to roar with laughter. He had always thought that God hated the Winchesters, but now he was certain.

"Sam Winchester? Sammy? Oh god this is too good." He lifted his razor to Sam's face and traced a thin line down his cheek, reveling in the bright line of crimson. "I've changed my mind Sam. I'm not going to kill you. I'm going to tear you to shreds, little by little, and then when your last breath leaves your body I'm going to drag you down to Hell so you can finally be reunited with your big brother."

"You bastard!" The raw fury in Sam's voice sent an excited little shiver down Dean's spine.

"Stop it with the compliments, I'll get spoiled." Dean slit the front of Sam's shirt, exposing his pale, muscular chest. Placing the tip of the razor in the hollow at his throat, Dean began to carefully carve into his brother.

"Hey, Sulfur-brains!"

Dean whipped around just in time to see an old man standing at the top of the stairs, pull the trigger of the shotgun in hand. A round packed with rock salt hit him in the chest and he fell backwards, screeching as the mineral ate away at him. His hold on Sam loosened, and the hunter dropped to the ground, already reaching into his pocket.

Dean had just enough time to think, _Damn. I forgot about Bobby,_ before Sam pulled a cloth bag covered in demon-proofing sigils over his head and everything went black.


	3. I Don't Know Who You Think You Are But I Know This Much is True

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cutting up a body is fun, but Dean never could resist the chance to break a spirit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's got language, emotional torment, and a little bit of something at the end that I guess I should call out as non-con for full disclosure. Not slashy, mind you, just absolutely nonconsensual. Of course, we're dealing with demons here, so.... all of it's pretty non-con.

Dean regained consciousness as the spelled bag was pulled from his head, and he blinked rapidly as his eyes adjusted to the light. He was tied to a chair, which didn't concern him very much, and sitting in the middle of a devil's trap, which was somewhat more worrying. He glanced at his surroundings and couldn't stop the smile that spread across his features. The stacks of books everywhere, the ratty couch by the window, it was all so delightfully familiar. He had been in this room many times before, although usually from the other side of the paint lines.

"What do you know about Dean?" Sam's voice was rough, and Dean lazily turned his head to see the hunter standing just outside the circle, flask of what Dean assumed was holy water in hand.

"Where's the old drunk?" Dean asked, and gained a faceful of water for his efforts. He bared his teeth in a snarl as the acid ate away at his essence. "You want to get right down to business I see. Just like the first three girls I took care of. One of them was practically undressing me in the street, before I got her indoors. After that she was a little tied up." Sam lifted the flask again, and Dean hurriedly asked, "You want to hear about your brother or not?"

Sam  _looked_  as though he wanted to exorcise Dean's sorry ass right then and there, but he visibly forced his temper back and waited. Dean licked his lips, trying to imagine the most painful thing to say to his once-brother. Finally, he decided that the truth would do just fine.

"Well he held out for thirty whole years on the rack, tortured day after day in ways you probably can't even begin to imagine. Time moves different down there, so for you it was probably only a few months here. And then one day, the demon in charge came up to him and asked him one more time if he wanted to try his luck at being the torturer instead of the victim. And because he was a weak, cowardly human like every other, he said yes. FUCK!" Dean screamed as Sam doused him with more holy water.

"You're lying!" The pain and anger in Sam's voice gave the demon excited little shivers down his back. The things he wanted to do to that voice. He wanted to make him cry, make him beg and whimper for the pain to stop. And he would, soon. First he had to deliver the final blow.

"God's honest truth," Dean assured his brother. "He took up that blade, and he loved every second of it. He loved carving people up and down, finding new and better ways to tear them to pieces. Hit me with as much holy water as you want Sammy, but the story won't change." Sam froze as the demon said his name, eyeing Dean with a slightly panicked expression. Was he beginning to suspect? Either way, Dean decided to hammer the point home.

"Dean was such a good little demon that he earned himself a vacation. So he came up here and set up shop in a little town in Iowa, luring drunk whores out of bars and making them mysteriously vanish. Until a couple of idjit hunters finally caught up with him that is."

Silence filled the room, and Dean watched the emotions scroll across his brother's face, like watching a movie. He saw the denial, which was slowly replaced by doubt and fear. And then, the last and the sweetest, despair.

"No," Sam whispered, backing away from the circle. The flask of holy water fell from his hand and clattered to the floor. "I don't believe you. You're not him."

"Bitch." Dean watched another storm of emotions cross Sam's face at the word. "Come on, Sammy, you're supposed to call me a jerk back. It's no fun if it's just me!"

"But you're a demon!" Sam cried, grasping frantically at straws.

"Oh, you never had that conversation with Ruby? How do you think demons are born in the first place, little brother?" Dean's voice was full of scorn. "You burn a human soul in Hell for long enough, it won't  _be_ human anymore. And you left me down there for centuries. Three and a half centuries burning, Sam!" Dean wasn't really angry; demons had it pretty good as far as he was concerned, much better than sitting on some cloud for the rest of forever with a harp. Wasn't there a song about it?  _I'd rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints, the sinners are much more fun_. Regardless, Dean remembered the Winchester code of self-hate and blame, and he was enjoying twisting the metaphorical knife in his brother's side.  After all, he didn't have a real one yet.

"Dean, I tried to save you! I did everything I could think of, I nearly killed myself trying!" Sam's voice was raw and choked, and Dean tilted his head to one side and with a predatory grin.

"Well maybe you should've Sammy. Then we would've been able to have this reunion a lot sooner." He strained against the ropes binding him to the chair until they squealed in protest, wishing he could walk right over to Sam and throttle him. Sam's eyes were over-bright as if he was on the verge of breaking down, and the sight delighted Dean.

"Sam?"A gruff voice sounded outside the door, and Dean turned to watch as another familiar face entered the room. "I found the rest of the victims, or what was left of them, and made sure that the police—" Bobby stopped speaking as he took in the smiling demon in the chair and the tears in Sam's eyes. "What's going on boy?"

Dean cut in before Sam could answer, wolf-whistling at the old hunter. "Looking good, Bobby!  I guess only having one Winchester to look out for gave you a bit of a breather, huh?" Bobby stared at him in shock, and Dean couldn't help but laugh at the expression on his face. "Aww, come on, don't be like that! You haven't seen me in three years and this is how you greet me?" Dean leaned back in his chair with a lazy grin. "How about a hug for your favorite idjit?"

All the color drained from Bobby's face, and for one fantastic moment Dean thought he had given the old man a heart attack on the spot. Gesturing roughly at Sam, Bobby retreated into the other room. With one last agonized look at his brother, Sam followed.

Dean sighed in disappointment, slumping against his bonds. Mental warfare was all well and good, but Dean's fingers were itching to carve into flesh again. He mentally tested the boundaries of the trap, looking for some sort of defect that he could exploit. Dean found it in the ceiling, where some disaster had chipped one edge of the circle almost to nothing. Carefully, slowly, he exerted his will on it, small hairline cracks spreading across the plaster. He was almost done when he heard the voices in the other room rise sharply. Curious, he stopped working to listen.

"Bobby, we can't exorcise him, that would just be sending him right back to Hell!" Sam sounded nervous and confused, and Dean couldn't wait to start needling him again, possibly literally. Then Bobby spoke, and Dean frowned.

"You're right boy, we can't send him back to Hell. We've got to kill him." silence reigned, and Dean held his breath.  _Come on_ , he thought furiously.  _Where's that big soft heart that always gets you into trouble Sammy?_

"No!" Sam's voice was sharp, and Dean chuckled to himself. The sentimental people were the best. They always played right into your hands. "There must be a way to fix him Bobby. It's my fault this happened to him in the first place."

"Boy, you've got to realize that Dean's gone. Even if that thing in there is telling the truth, that's all the more reason to kill him. Put him out of his misery." Bobby's voice was gentle. "If he was in his right mind, you know that's what he's want."

"You know, Bobby, I am in my right mind, and I really don't think it is." Dean spoke up partially to add some more fuel to the fire and partially to hide the semi-audible whooshing as he finally split the edge of the circle. He couldn't help but smirk as he felt his full power returning, flooding his system and making his eyes jet black again. He forced them back to hazel as Sam and Bobby returned to the room, Bobby looking resigned and Sam actually in tears.

"So?" He asked brightly. "What's the verdict: sending me home, or smiting my ass? I bet you've still got Ruby's knife, so what's it gonna be?" Sam looked away, but Bobby stared straight into Dean's eyes, unflinching.

"If you're still in there somewhere, boy, I'm sorry. We can't let you go on like this." Pulling Ruby's knife from his pocket, Bobby advanced on the apparently helpless demon in the chair.

"Sam, please!" Dean poured terror into his voice, making it sound like every frantic soul he had ever held under a knife. "Don't let him, Sammy, please, I don't wanna die!" Sam flinched, but to Dean's consternation he stayed where he was, allowing Bobby to walk up to Dean and press the knife agaist his throat. Dean sighed, letting his voice drop back to its usual confident tones. "Son of a bitch, guess you're not quite as stupid and sentimental as I thought.  Time for plan B."

He flicked his eyes at Bobby, and the old hunter flew back into the wall, knife clattering to the floor. A moment later, Sam was pinned on the other side of the doorway, both men struggling to free themselves. Dean stood, carelessly tearing his hands free from the chair, and stepped delicately across the paint lines. "You should really take better care of your house," he said to Bobby in a conversational tone, gesturing at the ceiling. "I think your plaster is cracking."

"Dammit, boy, don't do this," Bobby pleaded, eyes wide and panicked. Dean flicked his fingers at the hunter and Bobby found himself unable to open his mouth. He breathed furiously through his nose, eyes still locked on Dean's face.

"You were gonna kill me five seconds ago, so shut up for a minute. I want you to beg me for mercy when I'm good and ready, and not a moment before, okay?" Dean approached, his brother, who had stopped struggling and was hanging limp against his psychic bonds, staring at Dean in a bemused, heartbroken way. Pulling down Sam's shirt collar, Dean exposed the anti-possession tattoo that he knew would be there. His old body had been branded with one just like it.

"Dean," Sam whispered, eyes large and scared. "What are you doing?" Dean ignored him, crossing to the demon-killing knife and lifting it carefully by the hilt. Walking back to Sam, he stood and studied him for a moment. He knew that Sam had been in tremendous pain before, so that was probably not the way to start. His psyche was already shaken and bruised though, and there was already evidence that without the protection of the tattoo he could be easily overwhelmed. Dean smiled as a new method of torture presented itself.

"Sam, I know you've missed me." Dean dug the tip of the knife under the delicate skin near Sam's collarbone and began to work the blade under the tattoo, holding Sam immobile as he sliced and chatted. "And I know that since I got back, we haven't had any real heart-to-heart moments, you know? Like we used to have on the hood of my car with a couple of beers? So I think—" he paused for a moment to work the knife blade under the last bit of ink on Sam's skin. He felt the moment the tattoo's protection lifted, all of Sam's distress and agony calling to him like the smell of cheeseburgers to a starving man. "I think we should spend some quality time together, don't you?"

Bobby could only watch in horror as the demon tossed away the bloody scrap of skin and pressed his mouth to Sam's in a vicious kiss. Sam tried to resist, but Dean forced his lips apart and flowed into his brother, passing from one body to the other in the space of a breath. A few moments later the force holding Bobby against the wall vanished, but for once he didn't know what to do. Sam slumped against the wall, eyes closed and breathing ragged. The sandy-haired man's empty body fell to the floor at his feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I'm reading this again, I realize that I wrote this back before Abbadon was even a plot-bunny in the minds of the writers. Hipster Demon!Dean: skinning off anti-possession tattoos before it was cool.


	4. I Wanna Do Bad Things With You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember the major character death warning? Yeah. Here we go. I cannot stress enough how dark and horrible this fic is; there is no happy ending. Please don't hate me.

"Sam?" Bobby's voice shook.  _Please, if there is a god up there, we could use a little help_. Bobby didn't usually pray but he thought that now might be the moment to start. Sam neither moved nor responded, and the hunter took a careful step towards him, waiting for some sign that he hadn't just lost his last son.

Inside Sam's head, it was all out war. Dean would have been laughing maniacally if he could, but since neither of them had control of Sam's physical body at this point, he just flowed on in silence. Sam, for all of his insecurity, was fighting Dean hard. It had been a while since Dean had matched wills with anyone who could put up more than a token resistance, and he decided that he was enjoying the challenge immensely. He used all of Sam's fear and anger and confusion against him, slowly weaving a mental net around his struggling quarry.

To Sam, it felt like a thick blanket was trying to choke him, and the blanket smelled like Dean. Any other demon Sam could have overcome, but the realization that this evil thing was truly all that was left of his brother destroyed him. For Bobby's sake he resisted, but he could tell from the start that it was a losing battle. After what felt like an hour but was really less than a minute, Dean had his brother penned in a corner of his own head, forced to watch through his own eyes as Dean straightened up and turned to Bobby.

Before the old man could do more than register that Sam's eyes were gleaming black, Dean flung out a hand and knocked Bobby into the desk. His head hit the wood with a sickening crack, and he fell to the floor senseless. As Sam yelled and sobbed in his corner, Dean stretched, getting used to his new meat suit.  _Wow Sam, you're like, huge._  His brother didn't respond, and Dean shrugged, enjoying the sensation as he settled his demon-self into this body.  _Till death do us part, right Sammy?_  He teased, taking great pleasure in the crushing despair that emanated from his brother.  _Or is that for weddings? It's been so long, I really can't remember. Anyway, time for us to get to work with Bobby. I can't wait to teach you everything I learned at summer camp._

To his surprise, Sam managed to form coherent words, even though it was only a few, over and over.  _Dean I'm going to kill you and I'm sorry. I am going to kill you but I am so sorry._

Dean didn't need to exert much super-strength to carry Bobby's unconscious form, since Sam was a freaking moose normally. He went down to the basement, carefully avoiding another Devil's Trap in the hall and one at the top of the stairs, the locations of which he tore from Sam's mind with ease.

Downstairs, to his delight, he found all of his bloody tools and gadgets wrapped up in a burlap sack. Sliding his bag of tricks off the table, he positioned Bobby on it and went into the panic room, again avoiding the painted sigils, to find a nice set of straps and handcuffs. Sam, who had been relatively quiet except for his litany of threats and apologies, began to yell incoherently again as Dean secured Bobby to the table and began to lay out his instruments.

 _Shh, Sam, I'm trying to explain these to you_ , Dean chided, mentally squeezing his brother until he fell silent.  _Now,_  Dean continued,  _this one is best for flaying skin, although I have to say that knife of yours worked surprisingly well. And this one here I made myself, out of a melon baller. It's great for the eyes._  Sam continued to beg for Dean to stop as Dean finished describing his tools and picked up his favorite straight razor, turning to Bobby. The man was just regaining consciousness, and he struggled against his bonds for a second until he saw Sam approaching, eyes still black as night.

"Fight him, boy," the old man whispered. "Don't let him do this to me Sam!"

"Shhhh! If you talk, I'll get distracted. Who knows what I might accidentally cut off then?" Dean pressed the blade of his razor against Bobby's lips and dragged it slowly down, splitting the grizzled lips and creating a bright line of blood down his face. The sight made his heart race, and he grinned Sam's adorable smile again. "Hell, this is gonna be  _fun_." Inside his head, Sam struggled wildly against Dean's hold, strength renewed by the sight of Bobby's blood on his fingers.

 _Oh no_ , Dean laughed,  _don't be expecting any sort of last-minute save like Dad did with Yellow-eyes. You aren't John, and I am definitely not Azazel._  Dean easily contained Sam, letting him wear himself out as Dean continued his work. The hookers had been good practice, and Dean had just about maximized the time that he could keep a normal human alive while still taking them apart piece by piece. He was glad to see that, although old, Bobby was more determined not to give in than any of the people Dean had worked on previously.

Sam stopped fighting a few minutes in, instead trying to retreat back into himself and hide. Dean dragged him back to the action, forcing him to watch his own hands as they wielded the razor, scalpel, and other devices with deadly accuracy. Bobby lost the ability to scream when Dean sliced open his windpipe, carefully avoiding the major arteries and veins, and so Dean decided to fill the silence. Being back on the surface had refreshed his human memories, if not his human sympathies, and Dean happily hummed the guitar riff of "Sweet Child O' Mine" as he split Bobby's chest open like a lobster tail.

 

Dean was just about ready to finish up on Bobby, and Sam had been reduced to a semi-conscious ball of shame and fear in his own mind, when the lights flickered. Dean stopped and looked up, sniffing the air like a dog that recognizes its master's scent. A thud and a curse came from the top of the stairs, and then a smooth voice floated down towards them, filled with amusement and slight irritation.

"Anybody home? I'm looking for a certain bat out of Hell, and I've spent a very long time tracking him here. And really, the number of these circles in this house, you'd think you didn't want guests."

Dean sighed and quickly ascended the stairs, stopping when he came to the open door at the top. A lean, dangerous looking man with a short, neatly trimmed beard was standing in the devil's trap at the top, waiting for Dean. He raised his eyebrows when he saw Dean's new meat suit. "Well well well Dean-o, someone's been busy. And here I was afraid you'd get all sentimental if I left you up here too long."

"What do you want, Alistair?" Dean gestured behind him with his bloody knife. "I'm kind of in the middle of something here." Alistair wordlessly pressed a hand against the invisible barrier keeping him trapped, sending off a fountain of black sparks as he exerted his will on the force holding him. Dean quickly knelt and scratched away a section of the paint lines, freeing the other demon. He tried to stand back up, but Alistair rested his hand on the back of Dean's neck and he froze. The demon wasn't exerting any sort of pressure, but Dean had grown adept at reading Alistair's body language over their long relationship, and he knew that the older demon was annoyed with him. He waited, head bent, body tense.

"I understand," Alistair began softly, running his fingers through Dean's shaggy hair, "how exciting it is to be back up top. Honestly, I do. But Dean-" Alistair dug his nails into Dean's scalp and wrenched his head up so that he could make eye contact. "You're not just any demon. You have a job to do back home, and I only gave you one year off." Dean just watched his teacher with wide, nervous eyes. "You've been gone for almost two. I had to come looking for you. Now Hell is without its two best men, and I'm sure it's utter chaos down there."

"I'm sorry, Alistair," Dean whispered, but the demon shook his head, caressing Dean's cheek.

"Don't apologize, Dean, just come back. As soon as you're done here, of course. What are you up to now anyway?" Releasing Dean, Alistair proceeded past him down the stairs. He smiled in delight when he saw Bobby's mangled body on the table. "Dean, you're supposed to be on vacation! You're such a workaholic."

Sam, who had regained consciousness as Dean and Alistair talked, started screaming and swearing again as Dean followed Alistair and proudly surveyed his work.  _Goddammit, you monster, I am going to fucking murder you, you hear me? I am going to kill you, I swear to god!_

Dean smirked, replying silently,  _that's a good goal, little brother. Everyone's got to live for something._ Sam continued to make threats as Dean walked over to Bobby, who was miraculously still alive.  _Well, this has been a good family visit, but it looks like I'm needed down below, so I'd better finish up._

As Alistair looked on, Dean Delicately severed the last few veins and arteries holding Bobby's heart and lifted it from its bed of bloody flesh. It gave two more stuttering beats and then lay still. With a wet sigh, Bobby exhaled for the last time, what was left of his face relaxing in death. Sam's howls turned incoherent with loss and rage, but Dean ignored him, lifting the bloody prize towards Alistair.

"Look I got you a souvenir!"

Alistair's proud grin warmed Dean as the demon lifted the organ from his hands and inspected it. "How thoughtful of you Dean-o. But it really is time for us to go, I think." Setting the heart aside, Alistair stepped closer to Dean, wrapping one arm around his waist possessively and pulling him close.

Dean considered killing his brother in the last few moments, but decided against it. It was infinitely crueler to let him live with Bobby's blood forever on his hands. Alistair leaned in and covered Dean's lips with his, in a kiss that was even more brutal than Dean's had been. Dean kissed back passionately as, for the second time that day, he was drawn out of his vessel. Sulfurous smoke rose around the two figures as the demons fled back to Hell, and an instant later Sam Winchester was left standing alone in the basement.

Without the demon inside him to hold him up, Sam collapsed to his knees, squeezing his eyes shut, wishing fervently that none of it was real. He was crying, but when he tried to wipe his eyes he only smeared more of Bobby's blood across his face. The thick scent of salt and iron clogged his throat and he vomited again and again. He knew that there were things he had to do, that he had to get rid of the bodies and clean himself up in case the cops investigated, but for a long time he just lay in the dirt and blood and gore, shaking.

As if from a long way off, he heard the thing that had once been Dean Winchester laughing at him. A faint whisper, like a breath of scorching air on his neck, drifted into his head.  _Goodbye Sammy, it's been fun. And hey, if we're both really good, maybe I'll see you again in another few years._


End file.
